There comes a moment in time, for everyone, when they look in the mirror and no longer see the person they are used to seeing. For some reason, the mirror wasn't only used for doing hair, applying make-up and plucking eyebrows that day. It became, in that moment, a thorough and complete image of the person they had been un-seeing for months, maybe years. Being too focused on the details and not the big picture, the whole of us had gone unnoticed. Now, the noticeable was looking back. Little things like the softness the face now had, lines that were once barely perceptible had become carved more deeply, and what I noticed most was the instantaneous love for the woman standing there. Observing the observer, only a millisecond passes, but the recognition of a life being defined settles into the driver's seat of our thoughts and emotions. I felt the honesty in every visible hallmark of growing older. The long forgotten age spot from a trip to Hawaii that tries to blend in on my left cheek bone. One more recently from a few afternoons in the pool with Trey and Teagan.
My eyes are even more revealing than the years of smiles and laughter that took form in the shape of parentheses around my lips. Moving in closer, though still slight, the appearance of the tributaries that my tears use for escape can be seen. I imagine this delicate area is much stronger than even imaginable, it carries some extremely heavy loads. Much more capable to withstand the weight of life's hardest lessons, their existence can go unappreciated. The furrowing of my brows have left two similar sized lines, scars from the spectrum of emotions my life has absorbed. Deep in thought perplexities, anger, frustration and confusion now have a permanent residence between the doorways to my soul.
Bags. The bags under my eyes are cucumber resistant. Which is totally fine with me. I think we as a society have held some pretty negative beliefs about these sirens of fatigue. I see them as a result of a life lived. The glory of living resides under our means for viewing the world. Some view the world with their eyes closed, in a dark bedroom, worrying about scenarios that most likely will never happen, or previous situations that have gone to pass. There are no time traveling capabilities to change the past. We have only the opportunity to choose not to relive it. These humble sacks represent proof that I have spent my years experiencing the world. Night shifts and international flights, jet lag and work that often times leaves no room for rest, while tending to the fragile lives of others; stressful times during the courses of what would soon be realised as unsuccessful relationships. Living life outloud, dancing and carrying on until the wee hours of morning in cities all across America, those times should surely not be forgotten. Nor should the stretches of merely existing, when in the stranglehold of depression. Bags, painless results of working long hours caring for others, traveling to experiences, not just locations (whether a cross country move or for a once in a lifetime vacation), I sought the feeling of bliss that laid in wait at my destination. Bags are reminders of battles, real and imagined, that taught me about gratitude, and ultimately, joy for life. So for me, I'll keep my bags, and recycle them, too.
Age is just a number. A sentiment I firmly agree with, for I feel I am no longer growing up, but growing forward towards the inevitable end of an extremely fulfilling life.
